


Lapse

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek - Various Authors, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Ficlet, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 06:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9644768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Sarda was sent to Perren for more Vulcan control, but Perren’s on the edge too.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Ficlet for the book [Battlestations by Diane Carey](http://startrekreviews.tumblr.com/post/157048180359/tos-novel-31-battlestations), wherein Perren is an older Vulcan on the wrong side that sucks a younger Enterprise-recruit Vulcan down with him. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek, Dreadnaught!, or Battlestations! or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The guards are disconcerting, but they slip away at Perren’s nod, and he guides Sarda all the deeper through their lab—there’s nowhere truly _private_ , but they manage behind a towering stack of crates and the whir of machines covering their footsteps. Mornay wouldn’t stop them if she knew. Maybe just laugh. But Perren’s concerns have gone so far beyond her now. He flattens Sarda against the hard wall of their makeshift base and appreciates the sight of it, even in the off-colour light of the too-dim fluorescent bulbs and flashing blue-and-yellow displays. Sarda’s close-cropped hair is still vivid copper. His skin is still a healthy peach-pink, flushed a tad green around his eyes, around his cheeks, deeper when Perren sets a foot between his. Sarda’s much younger, perhaps too young for him. But there are no other Vulcans here to give what Sarda needs.

Sarda hesitates at first, then lifts his hands to Perren’s coat. The grip is slightly shaking, but Perren makes no note of that. He can already see the embarrassment in Sarda’s eyes. He can see _everything_ Sarda is, because he’s touched Sarda’s mind to the very core. And Sarda’s touched Perren’s, and Sarda knows what Perren can give—control, peace, _pleasure_ , justification for it—Vulcans aren’t meant to be cold. Sarda parts his lips like he’s going to say something (maybe “ _please_ ”) but no sound comes out. Perren doesn’t make him ask.

Perren lifts two fingers, held firmly together, in the caress no other Vulcan would spare Sarda, even now. All his looming intellect means nothing when he’s used it for this: aid with _weapons_. Perren will use them for peace. He’ll use Sarda for good. A part of him is honoured when Sarda lifts both index and middle finger to meet him.

They twine together. Perren squeezes once. A small shiver winds down Sarda’s trim figure, and Perren leans in to press a Terran kiss to Sarda’s cheek. Sarda’s been with them too long. He still wears the golden uniform of a _Starfleet_ vessel. He keens and leans in when Perren gives him more, pecks his jaw and closes in on his mouth. Sarda’s lips part, fingers clinging to Perren’s. Perren holds him tight and seals their mouths together.

He says it’s for Sarda, but it isn’t, not really, because the sudden rush of _want_ that washes into him is nearly overwhelming. He knows he’s been too tightly wound, given away too much, lost touch with _life itself,_ and that’s dangerous. Vulcans do appreciate life, do celebrate it, in their own way. He needs this to remember, to ground him. He has to be _so careful_ with what they’re doing. But he also needs a clear head, and can’t let Sarda’s beauty distract him. He needs this outlet. He slips his tongue into Sarda’s mouth and traces Sarda’s teeth, his walls, laps at his tongue and dances around it, gives a little suck—Sarda’s one hand tightens in his coat, the other slipping down to press into his palm. Perren envelops him in it and pushes him harder against the wall. Flattens them together. Their hearts beat too loudly at their sides. This whole planet is too _cold_ , but Sarda is hot as the desert sand Perren grew up on. Every time Perren tries to pull away, Sarda drags him into another kiss, losing them both in the illicit pleasure. Perren’s free hand slides into Sarda’s soft hair, raking lovingly back.

He flows down the back of Sarda’s neck, traces the shape of Sarda’s sloping shoulders, follows the twist of Sarda’s arm and along his side, around to the small of his back and the arch of his spine. Sarda shudders but says nothing of it. This has to be wordless. They’re balancing on a thread. He can feel Sarda worry, but Perren surges through the bond they’ve created, mentally cocooning around his fear and holding him, promising him that this is alright. Vulcans can do this. Can share this. They _have to_. If they bottle it up so much, when they’re under such stress...

Sarda keens and noses into him, bucks into him once, and silently pleads for another kiss. Sarda’s desperate; Perren knows it. The poor thing doesn’t know how to handle his desires. He practically _begged_ Perren for this first, if without words. His first _pon farr_ will be a nightmare. Perren had hoped to be there to ease him through it, but now...

He has Sarda now. He tells Sarda with his actions that this is _right_. He lets go of Sarda’s hand to enjoy free reign of Sarda’s body, roaming it with spread-wide fingers and eager palms. He tells Sarda _trust him_ , _follow him_ , and Sarda shudders and grinds harder into his body.

Perren cups between Sarda’s legs. The bulge that’s formed there is sizeable, rigid and pulsing hot in his hand. He kneads it gently, ignoring his own. Sarda doesn’t have the wherewithal to return the favour. He’s supposed to have completed the Vulcan disciplines by now, but none would teach him, and Perren was supposed to, but instead he’s pulled Sarda into this downward spiral. He’s still forever grateful to Spock for giving Sarda to him. He’s promised himself he’ll treat Sarda right. Whatever happens, he’ll take care of this one thing still precious to him.

He gives Sarda a final squeeze, and Sarda shudders and comes in his arms, moaning lewdly into his mouth. Perren swallows it away. He rubs Sarda right through it, holds Sarda up against the wall, and savours every detail of this moment. Sarda doesn’t know what a treasure he is. Doesn’t know how intelligent he is, nor how to harness it. How valuable, whatever the Vulcan doctrines might say. When Sarda has finished coming down and is only slouching slightly, breathing hard, Perren affectionately strokes the thin sliver of skin where Sarda’s tunic has ridden too far up his middle. 

It’s a waste of time, perhaps, but Perren needed this. He’ll be able to concentrate now, at least until the temptation builds too much again. Their bond will be all the stronger for it. Sarda won’t betray him, or at least, won’t leave him behind. 

They leave together, consciously letting go of each other’s hands.


End file.
